


Into the Sun

by RowanBaines



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: All is not what it seems, Angst, Bones being bones, Depression, Established Relationship, Grief, Loss, M/M, So much angst, and getting a headache for his troubles, hang in there, i'm a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines/pseuds/RowanBaines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk loses Spock on a routine mission gone wrong, but as time goes on it becomes clear that he's not going to let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. James T. Kirk

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand warm and fuzzy heartfelt thanks to my beta (and favorite human being), [Druxykexy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy)! And thank you to [Plaidshirtjimkirk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk) for the encouragement! Much love to you both!

 

 

_When now the boy, whose childish thoughts aspire_

_To loftier aims, and make him ramble high'r,_

_Grown wild, and wanton, more embolden'd flies_

_Far from his guide, and soars among the skies._

 

_\- Metamorphoses, by Ovid_

 

“Captain, I am in what I believe is the control center for the ba—” Static crackled, and Spock’s voice cut out, only to become clear again a few moments later. “—have initiated a self-destruct sequence. According to the countdown I—”

 

A blast of static again.

 

Kirk’s heart began to thud heavily in his chest. “Spock?”

 

“—the exit, but it is ineffective. I require immediate—”

 

Static, and then a high buzz.

 

“Spock!” Kirk cried. He whirled on Uhura, panic rising. “Do you what you need to do to strengthen that signal. I want him back now!”

 

Uhura, whose fingers were already flying over her console, murmured, “Yes, sir.”

 

Bucharis, a bleak class L planet, was far enough inside Federation space that none of them could have guessed that the unusual energy readings issuing from under its surface were coming from a small Klingon base. Kirk now regretted sending his bondmate—sending any of the away team—to investigate and desperately hoped that he would be able to get them back.

 

The ship lurched and voices raised around the bridge in report. Kirk pulled his thoughts away from his bondmate long enough to take in the information, his concern for the ship momentarily overriding all.

 

Spock’s voice, when it came again, made his heart leap. “Captain? Do you read me?”

 

“Spock! Report!”

 

“The control room is locked down and I am unable to escape. The destruction of the base is imminent. You will have to beam me out.”

 

This last was said with a heaviness that meant Spock was perfectly aware that wasn’t possible. The ship was under attack, and they could not lower their shields to beam him up.

 

Kirk’s stomach dropped and his mind raced as he sought a solution.

 

“Spock, how much time?” Kirk asked, gripping the arm of the captain’s chair to keep his balance as the ship shuddered.

 

“Five minutes and thirty-seven seconds.” Spock’s voice lowered as he added, “I am sorry, Jim.”

 

“Spock, you listen to me, there’s got to be—”

 

The incessant shaking stopped and the science officer on duty scrambled to peer through his viewer. “Captain, some kind of device has been launched between us and the Klingon ship. I’m reading rapidly increasing levels of static discharge.”

 

“It came from the Klingon ship?”

 

Jenkins shook his head, still leaning over the viewer. “Based on its trajectory, no, I don’t think so. But it would be possible for a vessel remaining in the magnetic field of Bucharis’ moon to remain undetected. If another Klingon ship—”

 

The _Enterprise_ rocked violently under the assault of another disrupter pulse.

 

“Sulu, evasive maneuvers!” Kirk snapped. “Return fire!”

 

Chekov turned in his seat, his eyes wide. “Sir, I’m have difficulty locking onto the Klingon ship.”

 

“What do you mean, difficulty?”

 

Chekov opened his mouth to speak, but Jenkins spoke first. “It’s that device sir! It’s causing an ion disturbance that’s interfering with the sensors. All incoming data is scrambled.”

 

Sulu frowned down at the controls. “Are the Klingons doing this? Would they have released some kind of jamming device to confuse us?”  

 

Time was running out, and even if they dropped their shields now they wouldn’t be able to lock on to Spock’s signal. What did the Klingons hope to gain by doing this? Or what were they hiding?

 

_Jim._

 

Kirk’s head jerked up and he took a deep breath as Spock’s mental voice sounded in his head.

 

_Spock!_

 

Kirk felt love flow into him, tainted by sorrow, and with a sudden shock of fear he realized that this was it. Spock was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. Spock was saying goodbye to him.

 

“No.” Kirk didn’t realize he had spoken aloud until heads turned in his direction.

 

Kirk felt a burst of confusion, and then the bond went strangely quiet. It was not unlike the silence Kirk experienced when Spock was engaged in light meditation, and he wondered if Spock was mentally preparing himself for the end.

 

“Sulu, can you safely pilot us out of here? That jamming device, or whatever it is, must have a range, so if we can get beyond it…”

 

“Navigating is tricky under these conditions, but I’ll try, sir.”

 

“Uhura, keep trying to break through. Jenkins, see if you can make sense of any of that sensor data. Anything you can tell us might be helpful, because right now we’re blind.”

 

Kirk had paced over to the the science station out of habit, and after a few moments of watching the unfamiliar movements of Jenkins’ dark hands he strode back to the captain’s chair. Time was rapidly running out, but it was still possible they might be able to pull something off. Kirk trusted his crew to give it their best, and their best was usually enough. If they could just…

 

Kirk froze. His blood ran cold.

 

A void opened in his mind, and he knew that Spock was gone.

 

“No...Spock!” Kirk mentally reached for his bondmate, but where there had been love and light, there was now only emptiness, darkness.

 

Kirk took a step and stumbled, crashing to the deck with enough force to knock the air out of him.

 

“The interference! It’s gone! All sensors fully functional,” someone called out.

 

Another voice sounded, closer to him, soft and feminine, “Sir, are you alright?”

 

Kirk blinked and pulled himself up, his body protesting the movement as much as his mind protested the solitude that had been thrust upon it.

 

“Captain, the Klingon ship has jumped to warp!” Sulu said. “Do we follow?”

 

“Captain?”

 

Kirk looked into Uhura’s concerned eyes and allowed her to help him up. She seemed confused, her lips slightly parted as though she would like to say more.

 

“No! Maintain position.” Turning to the science station, he snapped, “Scan the base. What’s the condition of the base?”

 

Jenkins expression was grim. “Destroyed sir. Anyone—Anything in there would have been incinerated. There’s nothing left.”

 

Kirk’s heart pounded faster and everything around him grew hazy.

 

“But Mister Spock—” Chekov started, eyes wide.

 

“Is gone, Mister Chekov.” His own words, however unreal they felt, were an assault on his very being. “He’s gone.”

 

“Captain, the other members of the away team are requesting beam up.”

 

So the rest of the team had escaped the base before it went. Of course. Of course Spock would have wanted to take on the danger himself. Kirk felt a flare of fiery anger that was quickly doused by grief. They would have tried to free Spock. They wouldn’t have left until it was certain they couldn’t do anything.

 

Spock had been alone when it happened.

 

_Gone._

 

“Get them...beam them up.” Kirk was breathing too hard, too fast.

 

_No. Not possible._

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

_A mistake. There’s been a mistake._

 

Feeling dizzy, Kirk sank into the captain’s chair.

 

_Can’t be gone. Need him here..._

 

“Jim! What the devil is going on up here?”

 

Kirk turned and found himself staring into wide blue eyes. “Bones.”

 

McCoy’s hand on his arm felt heavy. Someone must have called for the doctor, Uhura probably. Kirk shook his head and leaned into the touch.

 

“What happened?” McCoy asked, scanning him.

 

“Spock. He’s dead.”

 

McCoy looked startled. “My god…” His eyes darted helplessly around the bridge, but only for a moment. “I need to get you to sickbay. These readings aren’t normal.”

 

“Alright, I...” Kirk choked out. “Jenkins. The device that caused the interference?”

 

“It seems to have detonated. Perhaps a self-destruct mechanism?”

 

“Whatever’s left of it, get it on board. I want it examined.” Swaying as he stood, Kirk turned to Sulu. “We’re on yellow alert until we’re absolutely certain the Klingons are gone. Mister Sulu, you…”

 

“Yes, sir,” Sulu said, his expression solemn and knowing.

 

Kirk had never been so relieved to leave the bridge. There would be damage reports coming in from all over the ship and Kirk would have to compile all the information into a report to send to command, but for the moment he needed to get away. He wanted to run from the place where he’d been when it had happened. He wanted to run from the pain of it, the loss.

 

But the loss was inside him. It followed him into the turbolift, where McCoy steadied him with a hand on his arm. It followed him down the corridors and into sickbay, a gaping hole in his soul that grew wider with every passing moment.

 

He could not outrun it. It caught him, and he stumbled. He moved forward, supported now by nurses, crewmembers, other human beings...but not Spock. Never again Spock.

 

_Fix it. Have to fix it. Need him back._

 

“No…”

 

It hurt. Everything hurt, and Kirk’s heart throbbed dangerously fast in response.

 

“Jim?”

 

He wanted away from it, away from the emptiness inside him.

 

“I need to go. I need to get back to...Need to work.”

 

“Jim…”

 

_A lifetime without Spock?_

 

“No!”

 

The sedative worked quickly, and Kirk felt McCoy ease him down. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on pulling the next breath of air into his lungs, and the next, and the next…

 

*

 

Spock sat down across from Kirk and sipped his tea. Kirk loved the way his slender fingers cradled the cup, the way his lowered lashes looked against his pale skin. No matter how much Spock pretended to scoff at the sentiment when it was expressed to him, Kirk couldn’t help telling him how absolutely beautiful he was.

 

Kirk had suspected at first that Spock’s reaction to being told as much was born of embarrassment more than anything else, but the truth amazed him. Spock did not think himself beautiful. Whenever Kirk had shown Spock in a meld just how alluring he was, both physically and mentally, Spock had been overcome, shocked into silence afterward.

 

The last time he had tried it, Spock had whispered afterward, “Jim...I do not understand.”

 

But he did understand, and the genuine disbelief on his face had been heartbreaking. He was not used to that kind of praise. He was not used to anyone reacting to him, to _all of him_ , with such unwavering adoration.

 

Now as Kirk looked at Spock, gazing over the edge of his own teacup, he blurted out, “You’re beautiful.”

 

Spock only shook his head. “Jim…”

 

Kirk didn’t push him to accept it. Instead he pulled Spock to the bed and divested them both of their clothing. Jim’s worship turned physical, and strangely that seemed easier for Spock, his defenses melting away in the heated twining of their bodies. Jim pushed in deep and Spock took it, his prior disbelief suspended in the haze of Jim’s unbending need.

 

Kirk buried his face in Spock’s neck, crying out when he came, and his fingers continued to dig into him even as the afterglow faded. He slipped out of Spock, limp and physically sated, but the hunger continued to twist in him.

 

He was as hungry for the soft, cool skin under his lips as he was for the way the gentle emanations of Spock’s thoughts drifted lazily over his when they melded. Spock’s love pulsed into him through their touch, their faint link blown open after their intimacy, and a giddy, joyful burst of laughter erupted from deep within Kirk.

 

He needed Spock so completely that he didn’t think he would ever be able to get close enough to him, even if they did bond.

 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Kirk murmured against Spock’s neck. “Promise me you’ll never go.”

 

Spock’s fingers dragged gently through Kirk’s hair, and his chest rumbled beneath Kirk when he spoke. “I will never willingly leave you.”

 

Kirk tightened his grip. “Not good enough.”

 

There was a grating huff from Spock that Kirk recognized as laughter, and he knew that it was only the strength of Spock’s post-coital lassitude that allowed him such a slip.

 

“Given the length of the average Vulcan lifetime, it is far more like that you will leave me.”

 

“No,” Kirk said, rising up enough to look down at Spock.

 

Spock raised an incredulous eyebrow. “No?”

 

“No.” Kirk crossed his arms over Spock’s chest, leaning heavily on him. “That’s not acceptable either.”

 

Spock’s other eyebrow rose, and Kirk saw amusement flicker in his eyes, mixed with something else, something poignant and just a little bit dark.

 

“Oh? Then what do you propose—”

 

Kirk cut him off with a kiss.

 

“Funny you should use that word.”

 

Spock’s breath caught, and Kirk grinned down at him.

 

“Well, what do you say?”

 

Spock’s face seemed to grow softer, his eyes brighter. “Yes.”

 

Kirk could tell by Spock’s tone that he understood Kirk’s motivation. Spock had told him before that a bond such as the one that would form between them could possibly last even beyond death.

 

That was what Kirk was asking for. That was what he needed from Spock.

 

Forever.

 

“Yes?” Kirk breathed against a flushed green ear.

 

“Yes.”

 

*

 

Kirk woke slowly, the smile still lingering on his lips and the scent of his bondmate wafting off his pillow. He reached for Spock, _needing_ , and his fingers closed around emptiness.

 

His eyes flew open and his heart nearly stopped.

 

_Gone_.

 

“Oh god!”

 

Kirk sat up, gazing at his bed in horror, the hole inside him expanding with his awareness. He couldn’t remember coming back to his quarters or changing out of his uniform, but he suspected that had something to do with Doctor McCoy.

 

Kirk tore at the blanket that was wrapped around him, succeeding only in tangling himself further. He struggled wildly, tumbling off the bed and hitting the deck hard. He had to get away. He had to escape.

 

_Spock...gone._

 

Kirk finally untangled his legs from the blanket and curled in on himself, his forehead pressed to the cool floor.

 

“No, please!” he sobbed. “God, no! I can’t! I can’t!”

 

“Jim?” a voice called out from his door.

 

_McCoy_.

 

“No!” Hands grabbed at Kirk but he jerked away. “Don’t! I can’t!”

 

_Can’t? Can’t what?_

 

_Breathe._

 

_Live._

 

_Not without..._

 

McCoy’s arms tightened around him, and this time his hold was solid. Kirk twisted in his grip even as the pain twisted inside of him, a ripping tearing pain that he could not break free from. He went limp, helpless against it.

 

_How does it not kill me? How is it possible to feel this much pain and not die?_

 

“Easy, easy,” McCoy soothed.

 

“Bones, help me,” Kirk choked out between ragged breaths. “I can’t do this. I need him back. I _need_ him!”

 

“Take a deep breath, Jim,” McCoy said in his steadiest doctor-voice. “That’s it, come on.”

 

Kirk felt one arm release him, heard a few unidentifiable sounds, and then a hypo pressed to his neck. Kirk groaned as the drug flooded into him, making him feel warm and dull. He could tell McCoy must have decreased the dosage because he was not as lost or disjointed as he had been in sick bay.

 

Feeling calmer—though no less empty—Kirk sat up and scrubbed at his face, wiping away the wetness from his eyes.

 

McCoy let him go, remaining crouched next to him, catching his arm when Kirk finally struggled to his feet. McCoy helped him to the bed and Kirk sat down hard, the room around him seeming to swim a little.

 

Kirk leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands.

 

“Jim?”

 

“I feel broken.”

 

“I know you feel that way now, but you’re strong. You’ll get through this.” McCoy’s voice was firm but kind.

 

“I don’t know, Bones.”

 

“Jim, you just lost him yesterday.”

 

Kirk flinched.

 

“You need time to process all of this and move on. But you’ll be ok, with time.”

 

For a moment Kirk felt angered by McCoy’s words. As if he could ever really get over Spock, as if his very spirit wasn’t irrevocably altered by the loss of his better half. Feeling fury burn through his drugged haze, Kirk raised his head and glared into his friend’s eyes.

 

But McCoy looked earnest, concerned, and Kirk’s anger quickly faded, leaving him feeling more tired than before.

 

“I know.”

 

Kirk knew his tone did not sound convincing, but McCoy nodded and moved away. He came back with a medical tricorder and a portable scanner. He frowned at the readings he got.

 

“I’ve requested the assistance of a Vulcan healer on this, because I have no idea what to expect in the case of a broken bond in a human. There’s a healer currently on Starbase 64 who’s willing to see you.”

 

“Is that necessary?” Kirk couldn’t bear the thought of joining minds with another Vulcan.

 

“I’d prefer it yes. Right now there’s a great big question mark in your medical file, and I just don’t have the answers.”

 

Kirk dropped his head into his hands again. “Whatever you think is best.”  

 

Kirk felt it when McCoy moved closer. But his friend did not touch him again, and Kirk was grateful. He closed his eyes and imagined Spock’s touch.

 

*

 

Starfleet command wasted no time in moving things along after the eventful confrontation with the Klingons. If they felt the captain and the crew of the _Enterprise_ needed time to grieve over their loss, it was only a secondary concern to the plight of the colonists on Alaurus Prime.

 

The _Enterprise_ was dispatched with all speed to Alaurus Prime to help evacuate the colonists from the storm-ravaged wastes of its largest settlement, and McCoy’s request for a detour to Starbase 64 was put on hold.

 

A series of severe storms had resulted in extensive wind-damage and flash floods that left people huddling on rooftops or clinging to trees as debris swept by in swirling, muddy water. Those in immediate danger were beamed to safety, and the rest relocated via shuttlecraft to nearby settlements. The USS _Heracles_ would arrive soon to take over the relief effort, but until then, Kirk would keep himself busy.

 

For three days Kirk tried to put Spock out of his mind, focusing on relocating colonists and rescuing the injured. He set up emergency shelters, handed out food and blankets, and helped reunite family members that had been separated in the chaos.

 

After leading a young man to the shelter that his parents had been brought to the night before, Kirk had watched the family joyfully embrace each other. He had felt nothing but the dull ache in his mind that had been plaguing him since Spock’s death.

 

Muddied and exhausted, he retreated from the happy scene, deeply inhaling the rich, warm air and stepping around fallen branches and small ponds as he left the encampment.

 

He spotted two Enterprise crewmen sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, gazing up at the faint stars that were beginning to appear as the sky grew darker. Not wanting to socialize at the moment, Kirk veered off, slowly making his way in the other direction.

 

Kirk stepped carefully around uprooted vegetation as he trudged along the outer edge of the encampment. His heart twisted as he allowed himself to dwell on Spock for the first time in days.

 

He looked up at the stars and for the first time in his life he saw nothing but an uncaring universe. Not a place of wonder and discovery, but a bleak place where good individuals could be cruelly snuffed out of existence in the blink of an eye.

 

Kirk gazed at stars, searching for some change to mark the passing of the kindest being he had ever known. Surely the stars, too, mourned the loss of such a gentle soul.

 

But they didn’t. The stars merely blinked at him, indifferent, cold.

 

Kirk cursed his foolishness, and his vision dimmed as tears burned in his eyes. He didn’t let the tears fall. If he did, that meant he was acknowledging the finality of his loss, and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let Spock go.

 

Kirk sank down into a crouch, his heels digging into the muddy ground. Was it madness to deny the reality of his situation? Could he really keep trying to ignore the empty bond-space in his mind? Could he keep expecting Spock to walk around some corner with that not-smile on his face and his hands clasped primly behind his back?

 

Could he keep waiting for Spock to miraculously return to him and _not_ drive himself mad?

 

Kirk frantically searched the sky. If Spock were here he could tell Kirk the location of Bucharis and its now destroyed Klingon base, but he was gone, and Kirk settled on a random pinpoint of shimmering, bluish light that drew his eye.

 

“Spock, damn you,” Kirk said in a low, wavering voice. “How could you leave me?”

 

He stood abruptly and began to pace, his feet kicking up mud. He spun on his heel and stopped, glaring up at the winking point of light.

 

“You said a bond like ours is forever, but it’s not. I can’t feel you, Spock. I’m here and you’re gone.” Kirk’s fists clenched, nails digging viciously into his palms. “I can’t feel you!”

 

_Are you listening to me?_ Kirk sent into the empty bond-space.

 

He received no answer.

 

“Spock!” Kirk tried to hold back a scream—choked on it, heaved. He sank to the ground, defeated by the silence that boomed back at him. When he found his voice again it was a whisper. “Please, come back.”

 

He covered his eyes, pressing back against the pain.

 

Kirk was sitting on the ground with his arms draped over his knees, still staring at the sky when McCoy finally came searching.

 

The mud on Kirk’s clothes had become dry and cracked, and small rocks dug into him when he shifted at McCoy’s approach. If Kirk had thought about it, he might have decided that he was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t until McCoy touched his shoulder that he really became aware of his body at all.

 

“Jim. You should come eat something. I know how much you appreciate a non-synthesized meal, and some of the colonists are cooking up some good, hearty food,” McCoy said, his voice cutting through Jim’s thoughts.

 

Kirk blinked and turned his head to look up at his friend. “I’m not really hungry.”

 

“Well, why don’t you beam back up to the ship and get some rest? You look tired.”

 

“I think I’m too tired to sleep.”

 

“You could take one of those pills I gave you.”

 

Kirk winced. “I’d rather not.”

 

Kirk didn’t want to sleep too deeply. He didn’t want to dream of Spock and wake up reaching for him only to find himself alone. He didn’t want to realize all over again that Spock was gone.

 

“Look, Jim—”

 

“Let me be!” Kirk closed his eyes, instantly regretting his harsh tone. “The _Heracles_ is coming, and I’ll be back on the ship soon enough. Just let me have this, right now.”

 

“You’re running yourself ragged…” McCoy crouched down and caught Kirk’s eye. “Come with me. If you really aren’t hungry that’s fine, but I’d like you to at least try to eat. I’m asking you as your doctor and as your friend.”

 

Kirk smiled wryly, distantly surprised by the fact that he could still feel something other than sadness.

 

“Alright,” Kirk said, standing up. “Lead the way.”

 

The glow of solar torches and the smell of food seemed to crash into him, but Kirk steeled himself and followed McCoy back to the place where the human spirit endured.

 

*

 

Back on the _Enterprise_ , McCoy continued to worry over the broken bond. His loudly expressed concern did not go unnoticed, and the _Enterprise_ was ordered to head to Starbase 64, as per McCoy’s request, before setting off to investigate an unusual planetary nebula that had recently been discovered.

 

Kirk suddenly found himself with too much time on his hands, and every moment he spent idle seemed to make his sorrow swell fuller.

 

He could think of nothing but Spock.

 

His thoughts reached out again and again, stretching into the dark and drifting further each time. At night he wandered through that starless inner landscape and dreamed that Spock was there, just out of reach.

 

If what Spock had suggested was correct, the bond might extend beyond death. If so, it was only a matter of time before Kirk would be with him again.

 

That thought should have given Kirk some sense of acceptance, but instead he grew more troubled. His very spirit strained toward Spock, and he began to feel reckless, angry at their separation. He felt a sharp niggling at the back of his mind, and he began to examine the files on the tragic confrontation at Bucharis, searching for something—anything—to help him make sense of what had happened.

 

The _Enterprise_ was five days away from Starbase 64 when Scotty contacted Kirk in his quarters.

 

“Mister Scott here, Captain.”

 

Kirk had been intently scrutinizing the garbled sensor information from Bucharis, and he jumped a little before slapping his hand down against a button on the intercom panel.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“I’ve been piecing together that interference device, and I found something interesting. I thought you might want to take a look yourself.”

 

A strange feeling of nervous excitement washed over Kirk, and his thoughts immediately went to Spock. He stood, and a burst of adrenaline sent him sprinting out of his quarters for the turbolift. Maybe he was clutching at straws, maybe he was going crazy, but he couldn’t let the events at Bucharis go.

 

Once in the turbolift Kirk clutched the handle, his knuckles going white as he said, “Cargo Bay, main level.”

 

The cargo bay was large and echoing, and with eerily booming footsteps, Kirk strode to the storage unit where the remains of the jamming device were being stored. He found Scotty standing near a set of large metal coils, entering information into a PADD. He happened to glance up, and upon seeing Kirk he lowered the PADD and went to stand next to him.

 

“Captain.” Scotty nodded his head in greeting.

 

“What did you find?” Kirk hated to be abrupt, but he was too eager to be anything but.

 

“I’ve been piecing it back together, and I must say, it’s a clever piece of machinery.” Scotty started walking, stepping around twisted chunks of metal and frayed wires. “The self-destruct mechanism blew it apart with a fair amount of force, so the panel is damaged, but look here.”

 

Scotty bent down and lifted up a somewhat flat piece of metal, keeping one edge on the floor and turning it so Kirk could see. Etched into the bent and deeply scratched surface were swirling lines of vertical script. Kirk could only make out a few of the words, but it was enough to set his heart racing.

 

“At first I thought it might be Klingon, since we’re thinkin’ they’re the ones that launched it, but when I looked closer—”

 

“It’s not Klingon,” Kirk said, gazing at what had obviously been a hastily scrawled message.

 

“Aye, but do you know what it is, sir?” Scotty was watching Kirk with obvious interest, his head cocked to the side.

 

“Yes.” Kirk swallowed, finally tearing his eyes off of the panel. “It’s Vulcan.”

 

Scotty’s eyes widened. “You’re sure?”

 

“Yes. Spock was teaching me how…” Kirk trailed off, struggling to steady his breathing. “Scotty, can you build a device like this?”

 

“Like this one here?”

 

“Yes, _exactly_ like this.”

 

“Well, yes sir, I could. What are you needing it for?”

 

“Get started on that right now. Consider it your top priority.”

 

“Captain?” Scotty’s forehead was creased and his eyes wide with bafflement.

 

Kirk turned, exiting the cargo bay without another word. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and he needed to get back to his quarters before the the light-headedness he was feeling completely overwhelmed him.

 

Once in the mercifully empty turbolift, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Hope swelling, he reached into the depths of his mind. He found only darkness.

 

He lurched clumsily into the corridor when the turbolift opened. He was almost to his quarters when the whirling of his thoughts and the exhaustion of his body finally became too much. Kirk collapsed against the wall and slid down, his heart pounding and his body shaking.

 

_I’m not going mad._

 

_This is real._

 

 


	2. Leonard McCoy

 

 

_The father, now no more a father, cries,_

_Ho Icarus! where are you? as he flies;_

_Where shall I seek my boy? he cries again,_

_And saw his feathers scatter'd on the main._

_Then curs'd his art; and fun'ral rites confer'd,_

_Naming the country from the youth interr'd._

_\- Metamorphoses, by Ovid_

  
  
  


The death of Commander Spock had affected the whole crew, but Jim had lost not only a competent and respectable officer, but his bondmate. McCoy was worried about what that loss would do to Jim if he didn’t accept that Spock was gone and move on.

 

The captain had been holing up in his cabin during his off hours, rereading the mission notes from Bucharis as though he hoped the facts might miraculously change to reveal that Spock was alive. Or as if some error or overlooked fact in the paperwork could remake the telepathic bond that had been extinguished upon the death of his bondmate.

 

Brain scans had revealed that the areas of Jim’s brain which had previously been active due to his telepathic connection to Spock were now dark, a visual confirmation of his loss.

 

He knew that Jim would need time to process his grief, but it was McCoy’s duty as CMO to make sure Jim remained fit for command. He’d do anything to help him through this tragedy, but Jim had to first acknowledge that he needed McCoy’s help. No one should have to suffer through such a thing alone.

 

McCoy walked toward Jim’s cabin, mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead.

 

He looked up to see a young ensign coming toward him and frowned. The ensign was a slim, copper-haired fellow, and he gave McCoy a skittish look as he rushed past him and down the corridor like he had a mugato on his heels. McCoy slowed, glancing over his shoulder as the ensign turned down a side corridor, and after a moment he resumed his walk with a bemused raise of his eyebrows.

 

It was with a powerful jolt of dread that McCoy spotted the hunched figure against the wall, just past his destination. As he took in the command gold and sturdy form of his captain, he could not reconcile his image of Jim with the slouched and shaking figure in front of him.

 

Jim had one hand braced on his knee and the other pressed over his face, his shoulders heaving.

 

McCoy’s chest tightened when he got close enough to hear the breathy huffs issuing from his friend, and he jogged the last several steps to him. He grabbed Jim’s shoulder, tightening his fingers to make sure Jim remained steady.

 

“Jim. Are you alright?”

 

Jim jumped a little but didn’t raise his head. “Bones?”

 

The hysterical note in his voice made McCoy feel ill at ease, and he gave Jim a little tug to get him moving. “Come on, lets get you to your quarters. We don’t want any of the crew to see you like this.”

 

Jim straightened, and when McCoy saw the faint smile on his ruddy face he realized that Jim hadn’t been crying. He’d been laughing. Fear skittered across McCoy’s mind, and a quick twist of disbelief turned into reluctant realization.

 

Rubbing at his eyes, Jim leaned into McCoy and sighed. “I was just on my way there. I got dizzy and had to rest for a moment, but I’m fine now.”

 

“You’re fine? Jim…” McCoy had the brief urge to shake the man.

 

“Really, I’m ok. I might have forgotten to eat lunch, but I’ll make sure to eat a good dinner. I just got a little woozy, that’s all.”

 

They reached Jim’s cabin and McCoy opened the door. He walked Jim to his desk chair and once Jim was comfortably seated, he stepped around to face him.

 

“What’s happening to you?” When Jim made an impatient gesture McCoy moved closer, planting on hand firmly on the desk. “And don’t tell me you’re fine. You’re not fine. You just lost your bondmate, you’ve been isolating yourself and neglecting your needs, and I just found you alone in a hall laughing— _laughing!_ —about I-don’t-know-what and scaring unsuspecting ensigns.”

 

Fire leapt to life in Jim’s eyes, and oddly enough McCoy found it heartening.

 

“Jim, you can’t carry on like this. You need to let yourself grieve.” McCoy ignored the shake of Jim’s head and kept going. “You can’t just bottle up everything you’re feeling. You’ll turn yourself into time bomb. Just...let him go.”

 

“I can’t let him go.” The fire doused, Jim’s eyes went flinty, cold. “I wont.”

 

“If you want to move on with your life, you have to!” McCoy pounded the desk with his fist, but when Jim flinched he drew his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry Jim, but I can’t just sit back and watch you run yourself into the ground chasing after ghosts.”

 

Jim bit his lip and shifted in his chair before meeting McCoy’s eyes. “What if he’s not a ghost.”

 

“What?”

 

“What if he’s not dead?”

 

The hopefulness in Jim’s expression would have been disarming if the situation wasn’t so dire. But Jim’s career—and perhaps his sanity—was on the line.

 

McCoy took a moment to gather his thoughts, and when he spoke his voice was perfectly calm. “Jim, he’s dead. Spock’s dead. You felt him die, remember?”

 

“Yes, but—”

 

“Captain.” McCoy stood straighter as he strengthened his resolve.

 

Jim’s mouth snapped shut, and he straightened too, levelly meeting McCoy’s gaze.

 

“I have noted in your recent behaviour certain items, which on the surface, seem unusual.”

 

“Bones...” Kirk’s voice was faint, but so full of disappointment that it settled heavily on McCoy’s chest and made him falter.

 

McCoy swallowed hard before continuing. “I’m gonna need you to submit to a psych evaluation to confirm your continued fitness for command, and to determine if any counseling is necessary.”

 

Kirk raised his hands in surrender, though he shook his head as he clasped them in his lap. “I’m not crazy, Doctor. I just think there might be something we’re missing. Something isn’t quite adding up, and I’ve got to...I need to be sure.”

 

“Sure of what? Spock is dead, and analyzing every last detail of that mission won’t bring him back.”

 

“Yes, he’s _gone_. I know that,” Jim snapped.

 

“Then what are you saying, Jim? What are you trying to tell me?”

 

Jim’s face went tight with emotion before finally growing sad. He sank back in his chair and stared past McCoy.

 

“I just...I want to understand _why_. That’s all.”

 

McCoy wanted to reach out to him, but remained still as Jim continued, “And you’re right, I haven’t been taking proper care of myself. I haven’t been eating enough or sleeping enough, but I’ll work on that. I’ll undergo the psych evaluation, and if counseling is recommended I’ll get it, no arguments. Will that satisfy you?”

 

Feeling a bit abashed, McCoy floundered for an answer. “Well, it’s a start.” When Jim’s eyes finally turned to his, calm and distant, McCoy felt a jolt of unease. “Jim, I’m just worried about you. I hate to see you suffer, and I want to help.”

 

“I know, Bones.” Jim’s lips curled faintly in a gentle smile, some of the warmth returning to his eyes.

 

It should have been encouraging, but McCoy knew Jim too well to be placated by such easy capitulation. He felt as though Jim had turned against him, had found him lacking somehow, and he sensed that Jim would have his guard up from now on. It was exactly the opposite of what McCoy had been hoping to accomplish in confronting Jim.

 

Jim stood up, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion and a weak smile plastered on his face. “Come on, Bones. Let’s go grab a bite to eat.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” McCoy nodded his head and watched warily as Jim came around the desk and made for the door.

 

Jim might not want to open up to him, but McCoy would certainly be keeping an eye on him.

 

Something was amiss. He could feel it in his gut.

  
  


*

 

The captain gave McCoy no cause for concern over the next few days, and considering he had just lost his bondmate, that in itself was worrying.

 

Jim's psych evaluation painted a picture of a stable man going through the grieving process in a normal, almost perfectly textbook fashion. McCoy should have been pleased with the positive results, but he knew Jim too well to be fooled. Jim might give all the right answers, but there was a hell of a whole lot he wasn’t saying.

 

And McCoy was afraid that the things Jim wasn’t saying—all the feelings he was pressing down into the dark nooks and crannies of his mind—were going come back to haunt him in a big way.

 

He just hoped the fallout wouldn’t be as catastrophic as he feared.

 

Jim took to spending his off hours in engineering, and more than once McCoy spotted a harried-looking Scotty muttering to himself and shaking his head as he stalked through the corridors.

 

McCoy checked in on Jim whenever the captain managed to make it back to his cabin for sleep or a change of uniform, though the visits were usually brief and unsatisfactory.

 

Just eight hours before they were supposed to make Starbase 64, McCoy found himself at the captain’s door, listening to the tail end of what sounded like a very heated discussion. Curious, and too concerned of late to give much thought to decorum, McCoy let himself in.

 

“Alright, Kirk, you go see your healer,” he heard a low voice say from the terminal on Kirk’s desk. “But if there’s anything in the results to indicate that you’re in any way impaired…”

 

“It’s just a precaution, sir. I’m sure the results will reveal that I’m in good health.”

 

“Very well. Keep us informed.”

 

“Yes, sir. Kirk out.” Kirk cut the connection and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

McCoy stood quietly just inside the door, unsure of how to approach his captain. Normally he’d stride right up to him and let him know exactly what he thought, but Jim had become so distant that McCoy knew he’d have to find a new tactic.

 

Without looking up, his fingers now rubbing at his temples, Jim said, “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

 

McCoy straightened and frowned as he stepped forward. There it was again, that perfectly polite tone, as though Jim hadn’t a care in the galaxy. All Jim needed now was the fallacious smile he too often wore around McCoy.

 

Jim placed his hands on the desk and smiled at McCoy.

 

McCoy clenched his jaw and just barely stopped himself from openly glowering at his captain. He had unconsciously crossed his arms over his chest though, and he mentally cursed himself for his defensive posture.

 

“I was just checkin’ to see how you are.” McCoy kept his tone easy, but he didn’t bother to let his arms drop. He nodded at the computer. “What was that about?”

 

“I requested permission to see a Vulcan healer of my choosing.”

 

“What’s wrong with the healer on Starbase 64?”

 

Kirk’s shoulders hitched up in a small shrug. “Nothing. But if someone is going to engage in a mind meld with me, I’d prefer it to be someone I’m more familiar with. Someone who I feel like I can trust.”

 

McCoy blinked, then his eyes widened. “You want to go to Vulcan, then.”

 

“Yes. Spock knew Healer Stilen while he was growing up, and if Spock trusts him then so do I.”

 

“Trust _ed_.” McCoy hated the flash of pain in Jim’s eyes, but it was somehow easier than the bland indifference he’d shown McCoy lately.

 

“Yes, Spock...trusted him.”

 

“Jim...are you sure this will be good for you, going back there right now?”

 

Jim gave him a grin that McCoy might have labeled indulgent if there had been any real feeling behind it.

 

“It’ll be fine. I’ve already contacted Sarek, and he says Healer Stilen is willing to meet with me there.”

 

“Wait, you’ve already talked to Sarek? Didn’t you just now get permission to divert the ship to Vulcan?”

 

For a brief moment Jim’s features hardened, and McCoy caught a glimpse of the ferocious determination that had been known to drive the man on when it seemed all hope was lost. In this case McCoy found it unsettling, given that thing Jim hoped for could never come to be.

 

A moment later Jim’s expression grew almost serene when he answered, “I knew everything would work out.”

 

McCoy swallowed, mentally fumbling for a response.

 

“I appreciate that you came by to check up on me, and I’m happy to report that all is well,” Jim stood up and tugged down his shirt. “If you’re done…”

 

It was a clear dismissal, and McCoy bit down on a pout as he shuffled toward the door. When it slid open he turned back to Jim.

 

“Listen, I want to thank you for being so patient. I know I’ve been pestering you a lot lately, and I appreciate that you’re being so open with me,” McCoy said.

 

Jim was hiding things, and he must know that McCoy was aware of the fact. That didn’t stop a shadow of guilt from flashing across his face before he gave McCoy a hard look.

 

McCoy left, feeling sorry for the jab but unable to think of a way to make things better between them.

 

He couldn’t force Jim to confide in him.

  
  


*

  
  


When they reached Vulcan, McCoy insisted on beaming down with Jim. He felt a little awkward taking advantage of Sarek’s hospitality, but if that’s where Jim was seeing the healer then that’s where McCoy wanted to be.

 

They were shown into a large, well-lit sitting room that boasted a strange but surprisingly harmonious mix of human and Vulcan decor. It was there that they were graciously welcomed by their host.

 

Jim greeted Sarek in the Vulcan way, but McCoy wasn’t about to botch that tricky hand gesture in such imposing company, and he settled for a polite nod and a greeting in Standard.

 

Sarek stood tall and calm in his rich Vulcan robes, and McCoy wondered how he really felt about the loss of his son. McCoy couldn’t imagine that he was as apathetic as he appeared, or maybe he just didn’t want to. Looking at the closed-off Vulcan in front of him, McCoy felt a painful twinge of remorse that he had often been so hard on Spock for his unwillingness to show any emotion.

 

McCoy was pulled from his bleak thoughts when Jim eagerly stepped close to Sarek and spoke.

 

“So, is the healer here?”

 

Not surprisingly, Sarek seemed to take no issue with Jim jumping right to the point.

 

“He experienced an unavoidable delay, but he will be arriving shortly,” Sarek said, folding his hands together in front of his chest.

 

“That’s fine,” Jim said, and McCoy did not miss the flick of Jim’s eyes in his direction. “I’d like to talk to you about the message I sent. Maybe we could do that now, before he gets here.”

 

“I have no objection.” Sarek, too, darted his eyes to McCoy, but the motion was quick, and he was waving Jim to the hallway behind him almost before McCoy realized he’d seen it. “Doctor McCoy, please make yourself comfortable.”

 

Not long after they disappeared down the hall, the Vulcan lady who had let them in entered the room bearing a tray of refreshments. McCoy didn’t particularly care for anything at the moment, but he took the glass of cool water with polite thanks and sat awkwardly on the edge of the stiff couch as he sipped it.

 

He wondered what kind of message Jim had sent Sarek, and why they both had been so shifty-eyed while mentioning it in his presence. Jim had seemed almost paranoid, but Sarek...McCoy could have sworn there was something perturbed in his expression.

 

McCoy had just gulped down the last of the water when a delicate chime sounded and the Vulcan lady reappeared. She walked toward the front entrance, and a few moments later she went by again, this time with a Vulcan gentlemen behind her.

 

He did not look nearly as old or imposing as Sarek, but he had a quiet, tranquil dignity about him, his dusty brown hair smoothed down in soft waves and his expression bright but perfectly even. McCoy suspected this must be Healer Stilen.

 

McCoy stood, burning with curiosity, but sat down again when the Vulcans went the same way Jim and Sarek had gone. A few minutes later Sarek reentered the room, and McCoy clambered to his feet again.

 

“So that’s the healer who’s going to evaluate Jim?”

 

“Yes. That is Healer Stilen,” Sarek confirmed.

 

McCoy wondered if Sarek would leave him to wait alone, but after a moment of silence Sarek glided over to a high backed chair and smoothly took a seat.

 

“Sit, please,” he said, with a graceful gesture of his hand.

 

McCoy resisted the urge to shrug, and as he took his seat on the couch again he decided that he had been in far more awkward situations than this. He was saved the trouble of having to decide on a topic of conversation when Sarek caught his eye and spoke.

 

“I am concerned about your captain.”

 

McCoy had not expected that, and he gaped openly for a moment before saying, “Is there any particular reason why?”

 

“I do not believe he is entirely in his right mind. It would seem that he strongly resists facing the reality of his situation, that he is not able to acknowledge the loss of...his bond.”

 

McCoy felt himself soften toward the Vulcan at his reluctance to mention the loss that the doctor was now sure was affecting him as well.

 

“Yes, I’ve noticed that too, though I’m not sure what to do about it,” McCoy said with a frown. “I’ve tried to encourage him to face his grief, but he doesn’t want to let Spock go.”

 

Sarek’s lips pursed for a moment, and then he shook his head. “You must watch him very carefully, Doctor.”

 

McCoy felt a chill go through him despite the warmth of the room. “How serious is this? Will Healer Stilen be able to tell us for certain if he’s in any danger?”

 

“Not necessarily. He will check for any damage to Jim’s mind due to the severing, but that type of affliction is not the only danger,” Sarek said, his expression becoming almost severe in its seriousness. “It is not uncommon for one bondmate to follow the other into death. Usually the bereaved will die within a short period of time after the loss, but there have been cases in which they have survived for longer, choosing to die later, by their own hand.”

 

“You mean suicide?” McCoy gaped at Sarek. He had been worried about Jim, but he hadn’t considered that Jim might do something as drastic as that. But now, thinking back on Jim’s behavior, it suddenly it seemed like a very real possibility.

 

“Yes. You must do everything in your power to ensure that he accepts his loss. He must, as you say, let Spock go.” Sarek’s voice rose slightly, testament to the strength of his earnestness. “A Vulcan bond can be very fulfilling and can grant strength and peace of mind to bondmates, but when broken…” Sarek shook his head. “Your captain does not have the mental training to deal with the sudden collapse of such a connection.”

 

McCoy considered Jim’s withdrawal from their friendship, and his stomach began to churn. He had to do something. Jim was hovering on the edge of a chasm, and McCoy had to find a way to pull him back or they could lose him. He was sure of that now.

 

“My god,” McCoy murmured. “I’ve got to do something.”

 

Sarek nodded gravely and lowered his eyes.

 

They sat in silence for several minutes, only looking up when they heard Jim’s voice echo down the hall.

 

McCoy felt his heart flutter in his chest when he caught sight of the healer’s face. In contrast to the serene expression he had worn when he arrived, he now appeared distressed, his eyes blinking in confusion.

 

“So, is he ok?” McCoy asked as soon as they reached the sitting area.

 

“Bones.” Jim’s expression was tight, his eyes slightly narrowed but refusing to meet McCoy’s.

 

The healer clasped his hands behind his back, his disquiet disappearing under Vulcan control. “I detected no damage to his mind that would put him in immediate danger.”

 

“No _immediate_ danger?”

 

“I intend to write a detailed report, but I can tell you now that I did not find anything to suggest that Captain Kirk’s mind has been injured by the breaking of the bond.”

 

Stilen’s explanation only filled McCoy with more questions, and he huffed in frustration.

 

So the healer didn’t find anything to suggest the broken bond was causing Jim issues, but what else had he seen? Did he understand enough about human psychology to know if there was a problem?

 

McCoy suspected he had seen something that disturbed him, but Vulcan reticence might be keeping him from voicing his thoughts on the matter.

 

“I’ll need more information if I’m going to certify his continued fitness for command,” McCoy said, ignoring the glare Jim cast his way.

 

“If you would provide me with your contact information, I will send my report directly to you as soon as it is ready.”

 

McCoy pulled out his personal communication device and tapped the buttons that would send his contact information to Stilen’s PADD. There was a beep, and Stilen entered in a few commands on his own device.

 

Sarek had been strangely silent during their exchange, and the look he wore now was calculating.

 

Jim turned to him with smile. “We appreciate your hospitality, Sarek, but I’ve got some things to take care of while I’m here, so I need to head back up to the ship.”

 

“Of course, Captain,” Sarek nodded.

 

“I’ll contact you later.” Kirk held up his hand in the Vulcan salute. “Peace and long life.”

 

Sarek reciprocated the gesture, glancing at Jim and then McCoy. “Live long and prosper.”

 

“Come on, McCoy,” Jim said, patting him on the shoulder as he turned to the short corridor that led to the front entryway.

 

Too flustered to speak, McCoy followed after him. But he looked over his shoulder in time to see Stilen give Sarek a significant look before the two Vulcans turned and began to walk toward the back wing of the house.

 

Jim wouldn’t look at McCoy even once they got outside, and there was an almost manic gleam in his eyes as he ordered their beam up.

  
  


*

  
  


McCoy prowled toward the captain’s quarters, brimming with determination .

 

The _Enterprise_ had remained in orbit around Vulcan for four days, which was three days longer than necessary, as far as McCoy was concerned. The healer’s report revealed no more than McCoy had already learned and his attempts to contact Sarek before they left orbit had been unsuccessful.

 

Upon beaming back up from the planet, Jim had become inexplicably busy, and McCoy had had to relentlessly stalk the man to get a moment alone with him. He had tried again and again to coax Jim into opening up, but Jim remained locked away from him.

 

McCoy had been tempted to hide away in his office and give in to his own grief—because god help him, he missed that damned Vulcan—but then he discovered the reason for the ship’s delay at Vulcan.

 

He reached Jim’s door just as a yeoman was leaving, and he burst into Jim’s quarters with fists clenched and temper blazing hot.

 

As soon as the door closed behind him, McCoy let his anger flow forth. “What the hell are you playing at?”

 

Jim looked up from the sheet of metal on his desk and set down the laser cutter he’d been holding.

 

“What the hell is that?” McCoy snapped a second later, momentarily distracted.

 

“Good morning, Doctor McCoy,” Jim said with a wry half-smile. “This is just a project I’m working on.”

 

McCoy glared down at the metal panel and felt an irrational surge of fury, though he couldn’t have said why it bothered him as much as it did. He turned his glare on Jim, and was darkly pleased to see the smile turn into a frown. The satisfaction at having pulled some kind of reaction from Jim faded quickly as the darkness beneath Jim’s eyes and the gauntness of his face suddenly became more apparent.

 

“Anything you’d like to tell me, Captain?”

 

“Nothing that I can think of,” Jim said, straightening up. “Nothing that’s any of your business, anyway.”

 

“So you don’t think it’s my business that you requested, quite vehemently, apparently, a new addition to the science department? A _Vulcan_ addition?”

 

“My personnel choices are none of your concern, Doctor.” Jim’s voice was taut, as though at any moment he might snap.

 

“What are you trying to do? Do you really think you can replace Spock? Do you think you can hold on to him forever, make things the way the were, and just—”

 

“Enough!” Jim’s eyes blazed. His breathing grew heavy, and he muttered, “Damn you. You don’t understand a thing.”

 

Unnerved by Jim’s outburst, McCoy lowered his voice and let some of his desperation seep through. “Then help me understand. You must know how this looks. You’re walking around like a machine, like a mere shadow of yourself. You’re grasping at straws trying to give yourself hope where there is none. You’re…” McCoy faltered, feeling something in him grow heavy.

 

Jim’s posture relaxed and some of the anger seemed to drain out of him, but he remained separate, unreachable.

 

McCoy’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. “Let me help.”

 

“Bones…” The way Jim said it was like a surrender, the conceding of a small victory in the face of an unwinnable war. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I need time. Can’t you give me that?”

 

Feeling heartbroken and defeated but not knowing what else to do, McCoy said, “Alright. If that’s really what you need, then yes.”

 

“Thank you,” Jim said, lowering himself into his chair, his expression hollow.

 

McCoy retreated, unsure of his next move.

  
  


*

  
  


McCoy watched Jim every chance he got. He visited Jim on the bridge—feeling a distinct lack of the welcome he usually received—and silently fretted over the way Jim’s uniform shirt seemed to have grown a size too big. Jim was fading before his eyes, but McCoy could never catch him in any behavior that might hint that he was unable to maintain his position as captain.

 

McCoy didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He wanted Jim to be ok, of course, but every instinct in him was screaming that Jim was not well.

 

McCoy glared at their new Vulcan crewmember whenever he saw him, but predictably, he received no acknowledgment from the grim and unflinching scientist. It made him long all the more for Spock’s teasing haughtiness, his dry, subtle humor, and his sharp tongue.  

 

Many of the crew were on edge lately, but Scotty seemed particularly surly and harassed. More than once McCoy came upon Jim and Scotty in a corridor or a quiet corner of a rec room, deep in conversation and gesturing with sharp movements of their hands. They always fell silent if anyone drew near, and McCoy didn’t miss the deepening signs of stress the engineer showed after a talk with the captain.   

 

McCoy had tried confronting Scotty, but the man would hedge and shrug and finally say something about the captain “having a rough time of late.” As if that was something McCoy didn't already know.

 

He wondered how long Jim could carry on like this, relentlessly driving himself toward some unknown—and no doubt unreachable—goal.

 

He got his answer two weeks later.

 

McCoy stormed the bridge, unsure whether he was more angry or alarmed.

 

“Jim, please tell me you haven’t taken the ship back to Bucharis.” He hadn’t meant his voice to be so loud, and he inwardly cringed when heads around the bridge turned. “Aren’t we supposed to be looking at some nebula in the Beta Quadrant?”

 

“Doctor, your presence was not requested on the bridge,” Jim said tightly, eyes locked on the viewscreen ahead. He was standing next to the captain’s chair, one hand clutching it in a white-knuckled grip.

 

McCoy turned his head in time to see the viewscreen go white and then black before adjusting to show the fiery orb of this system’s primary star. It looked swollen and unavoidable as it grew to fill the viewscreen. McCoy felt his stomach drop and the looming sense of wrongness he’d been feeling for weeks burst into full-fledged terror.

 

“Sir, heat shields are at maximum!” a worried voice cried out.

 

“Steady as she goes.” Jim’s voice was taut with some unnameable emotion.

 

“Jim, what the hell is going on? What are you doing?” McCoy grabbed Jim’s arm and swung him around, clutching him even tighter when the ship lurched. “You’re gonna get us all killed!”

 

Jim’s eyes went wide, wild. “I’m sorry, Bones. I wanted to tell you. I wanted—”

 

The floor beneath their feet seemed to dip and they both fell against the captain’s chair. McCoy heard the droning voice of the Vulcan counting down, far off, surreal. He struggled to apply reason to their mad flight into the sun, to make sense of the pain-twisted features of the man he had at one time trusted completely with his life, his once unflappable captain.

 

Jim snapped out an order and McCoy took in the strained faces around the bridge before turning back to him.

 

When Jim tried to shrug off McCoy’s hand and pull toward the helm, McCoy yanked him back with a sharp, “Jim!”

 

Jim couldn’t meet his eyes now, but he lifted a hand and laid it on McCoy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just...I can’t. Not without Spock. I can’t.”

 

The ship began to shake violently, though the Vulcan at the science station still spoke in cool tones. It was the last thing McCoy heard as he fell, as the ship seemed to shake apart around him and heat exploded white hot behind his eyes.

 

He wondered how it had all gone so wrong, and then everything went black.

 

 

 


	3. Spock

 

_The Goddess, who th' ingenious still befriends,_

_On this occasion her assistance lends;_

_His arms with feathers, as he fell, she veils,_

_And in the air a new made bird he sails._

 

_\- Metamorphoses, by Ovid_

  


“Captain? Do you read me?”

 

Spock adjusted a dial on the communicator, and a moment later Jim’s voice came over the wavering connection.

 

“Spock! Report!”

 

Spock backed away from the smoking console in front of him and took a deep breath before answering. “The control room is locked down and I am unable to escape. The destruction of the base is imminent. You will have to beam me out.”

 

Spock knew that this was not possible under the circumstances. His heart was beating too fast, but he did not apply his controls to correct the issue, nor did he attempt to halt the flow of sorrow that went through him at the thought of never seeing Jim again.

 

“Spock, how much time?” Jim’s voice was strained, and his fear poured freely through the bond.

 

“Five minutes and thirty-seven seconds.” Spock lowered his voice as he added, “I am sorry, Jim.”

 

“Spock, you listen to me, there’s got to be—”

 

The line fell silent, and despite Spock’s desire to resume communications with Jim, he lowered the communicator and waited patiently. If the ship was under attack, Jim must focus his attention where it was needed most.

 

The communicator emitted two descending notes to indicate that the connection with the ship had been dropped completely, and a few moments later Spock felt Jim’s panic. He returned the device to his belt and quelled his own rising anxiety before he sent his mind out to his bondmate.

 

_Jim._

 

Jim’s answer was immediate.

 

_Spock!_

 

Spock experienced a swelling of tender emotion and let it flow through the link to his bondmate. There was so much he would like to say, but since he had no other way of communicating with Jim, he settled for sending his love. He tried not to let too much of his regret at their parting seep through, but knew he was unsuccessful when he felt Jim’s emotions begin to churn.

 

If only there were a way to escape the control room. The others in the landing party had tried to blast through the heavily reinforced door, but their attempts had been ineffective.

 

Spock approached the main console but jumped back when it spat a dazzling shower of sparks at him. The controls were unusable. The Klingon he had encountered upon entering the room had seen to that. Spock glanced over his shoulder at the unconscious Klingon at the other end of the room, and then helplessly at the partially melted, blackened computer screen.

 

He could hear the countdown through the walls—it echoed through the hallways of the complex in a mechanical Klingon voice that sent an inexplicable chill through him—and he could see it in jagged script on one of the smaller, undamaged monitors.

 

He knew that his time was short.

 

Spock closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind, wanting to face his last moments with dignity.

 

Jim would grieve, but he would go on without Spock, ever the intrepid explorer. He must.

 

Something began to twist in Spock’s chest, a deep, throbbing hurt, but he suppressed it and took a deep breath. He had almost vanquished the pain completely when his body began to experience a familiar tingling.

 

Spock’s eyes flew open just as the battered steel-gray walls around him vanished.

 

His mind seemed to white out for a moment, as though he had ceased to exist, but the feeling passed so quickly that he could not say with any certainty that he had truly experienced it.

 

Spock looked around the transporter room in open bewilderment, but he recovered quickly and tightened the shields around his emotions before he locked eyes with the man behind the controls. “Mister Scott. Why have you beamed me aboard? Is the ship not under attack at the moment?”

 

Mister Scott shook his head, a faint smile twisting his lips and the tension lines easing around his eyes.

 

“Got him, sir,” he said into the intercom before looking back up at Spock. “Welcome back, Mister Spock. I won’t say it’s not a relief to see you again, but I’ve got to get back to engineering before we head back. Or forward, as the case may be.”

 

He was already walking out the door before he had finished speaking, and Spock followed him, determined to confront Jim about taking such a risk to save him.

 

As Mister Scott broke into a trot ahead of him, Spock became aware of the pounding of another set of footsteps behind him. He started to turn just as a hand caught his arm in a firm grip and spun him around.

 

“Spock! He was right, wasn’t he?”

 

Spock frowned. “Doctor McCoy. I would appreciate if you would elucidate—”

 

“Not right now,” McCoy said as he waved a medical hand scanner over Spock. He gave a satisfied nod before adding, “You’re coming with me.”

 

McCoy tugged his arm and Spock walked next to him, eager for an explanation and compelled by the man’s obvious sense of urgency. Spock felt various emotions pulsing into him from the human, including excitement, concern, and disbelief, before he tightened his shields further.

 

Spock let McCoy lead him, almost alarmed by the doctor’s sudden tactile inclination, until he realized he was being taken to Jim’s quarters.

 

Spock pulled his arm away. “We are in the middle of a crisis, and my place is on the bridge.”

 

Spock had felt it when the ship jumped to warp, but he did not become concerned until he realized that their speed was rapidly increasing.

 

“No. When Jim sees you it damn well won’t be on the bridge. It’ll be in the privacy of his own quarters. In you go.” McCoy snapped out this last with a finger pointed at the door, which had just opened to admit them.

 

Spock walked in but whirled on McCoy, his body going tense. “Doctor McCoy, you will account for your strange behavior, and for the—”

 

Spock gasped, hands flying to his head. The ship began to shake, but his mind was solely focused on his bond with Jim. It felt as though it was being stretched tighter and tighter, and he feared that it would break at any moment.

 

“Jim!”

 

“Easy, Spock. Here, come sit down.”

 

He distantly heard the rumble of turbulence, and then McCoy tumbled into him and grabbed his arms.

 

“What—” Spock could not finish, and let himself be pushed into a chair.

 

“Jim’s fine. He’ll be here in just a minute,” McCoy soothed.

 

If Spock had not been so focused on the bond he might have wondered at the strength of the tolerant affection coming through the hand now rubbing calming circles on his back.

 

“The bond...” Spock looked up into solemn blue eyes. “Something has happened. The bond is intact, but I cannot feel Jim. I cannot reach him.”

 

McCoy straightened and regarded Spock thoughtfully. “I guess that does make sense. That must be why Jim thought you were dead.”

 

Alarm shot through Spock and he was overwhelmed with concern for his bondmate. “What is your meaning? Why would Jim believe that I was dead? Doctor, I suggest that you explain—”

 

“Here he is.” McCoy turned as the door opened and Jim hurried in.

 

McCoy went to Jim and clapped him on the shoulder, giving a squeeze before letting go. When Jim nodded his acknowledgement, McCoy cast a quick glance at Spock before walking out.   

 

“Jim?” Spock stood and took a step away from the chair, his legs feeling weak beneath him. “What is happening?”

 

He felt fear begin to lick at the edges of his mind when Jim merely watched him, wide-eyed and trembling.

 

Spock started to move forward, but stopped. Something was not right. This was Jim and yet, somehow, it was not. When he had left the ship mere hours earlier, Jim had appeared healthy, but the man in front of him looked worn, tired. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and his face had lost some of it’s smooth roundness, becoming almost gaunt. His shirt was loose, and the inner fire that had always made Jim seem to glow with vibrant energy had dimmed.

 

In his mind Spock clutched at the bond, but Jim remained just out of reach, too far away and yet right in front of him.

 

Unless this was not Jim. Spock let out sharp breath of air.

 

The human had stood silently while Spock examined him, but the small noise seemed to provoke him and he rushed at Spock.

 

“Don’t—” Spock raised an arm between them, but the human knocked it aside, twisting his hands in Spock’s shirt and pushing him backward. Spock gasped when his back hit the room divider. He reached up to administer a neck pinch, nearly breathless with panic.

 

As soon as Spock’s fingers touched bare skin he was bombarded by a gut-twisting mix of anguish and overwhelming relief. This man _was_ Jim, and the bond recognized him, roaring back to life with such force that it knocked them both down.

 

They tangled together, hands grasping and tugging at fabric as they pulled each other closer.

 

“I’m sorry. Spock, I’m sorry,” Jim mumbled into Spock’s neck. “We couldn’t lower the shields, and when the base blew…”

 

It seemed to Spock that he should understand what had happened, that the facts were sufficient for him to form likely answers to his many questions. But the bond was loud and bright in his head, and at the moment he could not think clearly.

 

“Jim, What did you do?”

 

Jim sat up, reluctantly meeting Spock’s eyes. “I couldn’t just let you die. You don’t know what it was like for me, losing you. You don’t—”

 

“Jim.”

 

“I went back for you. Back in time.” Jim wet his lips and sagged against Spock again. “An artificially-created time warp. I—we had to decloak during the maneuver because of the energy drain, so we deployed a device to interfere with—I wrote a message to myself in Vulcan. Told myself not to give up.” Jim laughed, a dry, wavering sound. “I wrote…I tried to...”

 

Feeling Jim’s struggle as if it was his own, Spock held Jim closer for a moment before resting his fingertips against Jim’s face.

 

“Show me.”

 

Spock felt Jim’s assent through the touch, and he slid into Jim’s mind.

 

Pain. Harrowing pain.

 

Spock did not recoil from it, but pushed forward, appalled at the state of his bondmate’s mind and desperate to set it right. He reached and soothed with his own mind as he passed through Jim’s recent memories, and something in him shuddered as he began to understand what his bondmate had suffered.

 

Loss.

 

Spock felt it when the bond went dead in Jim’s mind, felt his staggering grief and his subsequent loneliness as he continued to reach for Spock but found only emptiness. He watched Jim struggle through each day, unable to gain any sense of closure because he could not accept that his life would not have Spock in it.

 

Spock felt Jim’s shock when he saw the damaged panel with the faltering Vulcan words he recognized as having been written by his own hand. He felt hope explode inside Jim, warring viciously with his despair.

 

He felt Jim’s guilt as he hid his plans from Bones—from McCoy—knowing his friend would think Jim was going crazy, that as CMO he would be compelled to report his suspicions.

 

He felt Jim’s guilt when he lied to trusted crew members—to protect them from wrongdoing, more than anything—and his relief when he realized that they knew the truth anyway and were still willing to help him get Spock back. Jim’s gratitude that they believed in him, that they remained so loyal, bloomed radiant and warm in Spock’s mind.

 

He saw Jim and Scotty work tirelessly on the cloaking device so that they could retrieve Spock unseen by the Klingons or their past selves. He watched them build the jamming device so that when they decloaked to travel back to their proper time they would not be picked up by sensors.

 

He felt Jim’s anxiety over using a maneuver like the slingshot effect without the benefit of Spock’s ability to accurately make the precise calculations needed.

 

Spock was nearly startled out of the meld when Jim’s memories revealed Sarek, who had been at first pitying and then hopeful after Jim saw the healer. It had been Sareks idea that his cousin Torik lend his expertise to the _Enterprise_ —ostensibly for an upcoming mission—but Jim had made it happen.

 

Sarek had meant it as a gesture of support, and Jim had taken it as such. Jim had gone forth to get his bondmate back, driven by love and sorrow and pain, because he could not let Spock go without a fight.

 

Spock’s mind was reeling, and when he pulled out of the meld he found that his body was shaking, responding to the flood of memories.

 

Jim had been even more deeply affected by the remembered emotions, and he gasped for air as he reached blindly for Spock. Spock caught Jim’s head in his hands and turned him so that he could look into the wide hazel eyes. It took a few moments for Jim to focus, but when he did, his breaths came more easily and his eyelids drooped.

 

For a moment Spock sensed only exhaustion, but then something sparked in Jim and he pitched forward, slamming their mouths together.

 

Spock felt his bottom lip split under Jim’s teeth and groaned when Jim’s tongue plunged into his open mouth, bringing with it the metallic taste of blood. Jim was hard against him, his fingers scraping roughly over Spock’s skin as he frantically tugged his shirt and undershirt up.

 

Feeling his bondmate’s desperate need, Spock allowed Jim to strip them and drag him to the bed, Jim’s hands gripping him with a possessive strength that would surely mark his skin. He felt Jim’s hunger like a fierce, twisting ache inside him, and he eagerly opened himself to Jim, spreading his legs and pulling Jim between them.

 

Jim pinned him down for a moment, taking his mouth in another demanding kiss, then clutched Spock tight and rolled them over.

 

Spock gazed down at his bondmate and gasped when Jim stroked him, though he pulled back when he realized what Jim meant to do.

 

“I want you now.” Jim’s voice was hoarse, almost a growl. “I need to feel you. I need...”

 

“Jim.” Spock kissed him and reached for the lubricant. He wanted to prepare Jim, to take his time soothing away his bondmate’s lingering pain, but Jim was determined and took the tube from him.

 

Jim’s hands slicked him up and pulled him close, guiding him inside. There was resistance, and a flaring of pain through the bond, but Jim only gripped Spock tighter and drove him deeper.

 

When Spock was completely sheathed within him, Jim stilled, though his mind was buzzing with furious emotion.

 

Spock let his head drop and squeezed his eyes shut. The puffing of Jim’s hot breath against him came in time with the thoughts in Jim’s mind, a worshipful litany that bristled with sickening pain.

 

_Missed you, missed you, oh god, don’t go, need you, don’t ever…_

 

It ripped something loose in Spock, and he began to thrust into Jim. He did not resist even when Jim wrapped his legs around Spock’s waist and slammed them together, causing another flare of pain to shoot across the link like an electric shock. The sensation quickly faded, submerged beneath the heated waves of free-flowing love. Spock felt as though he was sinking, drowning in the ecstasy that now radiated from Jim at their joining.

 

He thrilled at Jim’s voice in his head, now demanding: _faster, harder, more!_

 

Spock drove himself into Jim with as much force as he dared use, entranced by the sight of Jim’s glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and gasping mouth. Spock leaned down, rocking in and out of Jim as he swallowed Jim’s soft, desperate noises in a kiss.

 

Spock knew that he himself was loudly vocalizing with each greedy plunge into the grasping heat of Jim’s body, but the force of Jim’s thoughts soon blocked out all.

 

_Need you, don’t ever leave, stay with me, always, love you, love you, Spock!_

 

It hurt, the pleading in his mental cries, but the sheer amount of passion behind the words sent a burst of uncontrolled pleasure and joy through Spock. He felt himself ejaculate deep within his mate, and he continued to thrust slowly into him as he took Jim in hand and brought him to the peak.

 

Jim came hard against him, sweaty and shaking. With a choked sound he pulled Spock’s body flush with his and wrapped his arms around him.

 

When Spock’s control finally reasserted itself, his time sense indicated that they had been lying motionless for twenty three minutes and eighteen seconds. Jim’s mind was no longer saturated with pain, but where their thoughts touched he sensed a vulnerable rawness that could take months to fully heal.

 

Spock squeezed Jim protectively, knowing that the amount of grief it would take to do such damage was substantial. Jim’s breath whooshed out of him, and Spock loosened his grip, shifting himself so that his full weight was not on top of Jim.

 

“Come back,” Jim mumbled, his need for sleep heavy in his voice.

 

“I will crush you.”

 

“I don’t care. I want you closer.”

 

Jim tried to pull Spock back on top of him, and as a compromise Spock turned Jim onto his side so that they were face to face, pressing the length of their bodies together. Jim emitted a growling hum that Spock knew to be a sound of deep contentment, and Spock allowed himself the smallest smile against Jim’s cheek.

 

They remained that way for some time, until Spock felt Jim’s satisfaction slowly began to slide into unease.

 

Spock’s hands rubbed up and down Jim’s side, his fingers bumping over too-prominent ribs. He frowned, his own sense of disquiet growing.

 

“Jim,” Spock said when the silence became too heavy. “You have not been taking care of yourself.”

 

“I had more important things to worry about.”

 

Spock could not help but feel some irritation at Jim’s dismissive tone. “Nothing is more important to me than your wellbeing. Something I would have hoped you would keep in mind.”

 

“You were dead, Spock.” Jim’s voice was flat, but something dark crept across the bond.

 

Spock felt a chill go through him and realized that he should have waited to bring up his concerns. The last thing he needed to do was antagonize Jim while he was in such a state. Spock snaked a hand behind Jim’s neck and pulled him into a kiss, and he only moved back when the darkness began to recede.

 

“I was never dead,” he said, locking eyes with Jim. “When I was brought into the future I ceased to exist at that point in the past, and the bond was stretched too thin.”

 

Jim sighed, forehead creased in a frown. “I couldn’t feel you at all, Spock. You were _gone_.”

 

Spock stroked through Jim’s hair, his heart twisting at the sadness in his eyes. Even with Spock right in front of him it lingered.

 

“Were you Vulcan, you would have been able to assess that the bond was still intact. Without the ability to do so, it is understandable that you would conclude that the bond was broken. If I had known...I am sorry, Jim.”

 

At that Jim smiled. “It wasn’t your fault. How could you have guessed that we’d be separated by time? That I’d go into the past and abduct you?”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should have allowed for the possibility. Your penchant for finding unexpected solutions is impressive.”

 

Jim’s smile grew, the creases around his eyes marking it as genuine.

 

The warmth that streamed into Spock made him feel light, dizzy. He closed his eyes, sending it flowing back to Jim along with his own buoyant sense of wellbeing. Down on the planet he had believed that he would die, that he would never see Jim again, and he was deeply grateful that he had been wrong.

 

Spock felt Jim begin to drift into sleep and gave him the softest mental nudge to help him along. When several minutes had passed, he gently began to unwrap himself from Jim’s arms.

 

Spock had completely pulled away and was sliding his legs over the side of the bed when Jim snapped awake, alarm blaring through the link as he caught Spock’s wrist in a tight grip.

 

“Where are you going?” Jim’s voice was surprisingly clear for someone who had been asleep moments before.

 

Spock settled back on the bed facing Jim. “As first officer I have duties to perform. It was my intention to oversee the dismantling of the cloaking device and assess the ship’s status.” That was only a small part of the reason Spock had felt compelled to get up, but he did not feel Jim needed to know more at the moment.

 

The fierce grip on his wrist eased, and Jim slid his hand up Spock’s arm, resting it finally on his shoulder. He seemed hesitant to meet Spock’s eyes, but when he did the expression there was uncertain, and so wholly unlike him that Spock felt a flash of guilt at having caused it.

 

“You’re right. That would be the responsible thing to do,” Jim conceded, brow furrowed. “We have a ship to run.”

 

Jim stared at the far wall as he stroked up and down Spock’s arm. The bond was once again teeming with a disconcerting mix of shadowed emotions. Spock longed to dispel all of the human’s unrest, to see Jim’s too-pale cheeks flush with radiant feeling and to feel the exhilarating buzz of his boundless energy through their bond.

 

“You should rest. I will stay with you,” Spock said, his resolve firming when the bond gave a quickly suppressed throb of yearning.

 

“You don’t have to do that.” Jim’s frown deepened, but Spock was satisfied to note that his body relaxed into the mattress. “After a maneuver like that I should’ve remained on the bridge. I should have...”

 

“Jim, I trust that we will be promptly alerted if any matter arises that requires our attention.” Spock reached down and pulled the spare blanket at the foot of the bed over them before shifting back into a comfortable position next to Jim. “My impulse to be active has passed, and I would like to be close to you.”

 

“Alright. You win.” Jim’s mouth twisted and mirth flared briefly in his tired eyes before he closed them.

 

“Yes,” Spock whispered as Jim’s presence in his mind faded into the quietude of sleep again.

 

Spock had much to do, but right now his mate needed him at his side, and that was where he would stay.

 

Too stimulated to sleep, Spock compiled a mental list of things he must accomplish.

 

If Jim had acted on his own authority to retrieve Spock, without Starfleet’s backing, then Spock would need to do damage control. He would need to determine how the situation could be explained, and defended, if need be, to ensure that Jim did not suffer any serious consequences.

 

Spock would need to contact his father, as he would need Sarek’s support, and by extension, Vulcan’s support, if it became necessary to take any action to protect his bondmate.

 

For a moment Spock felt his carefully structured plans simmer with protective fire. Vulcan instinct blazed to life and he held Jim closer, unbending determination hardening his thoughts. When Jim sighed in his sleep, the fire cooled, but his will in this regard remained indomitable.

 

Jim would recover and thrive. Spock would make sure of it.

 

Spock ordered the lights lower and pulled Jim’s face against his neck, relishing the warmth of his breath and the press of his skin. He closed his eyes and sent his mind into Jim’s as he often did when they slept.

 

Together, they dreamed of their future.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I give my thanks to [Druxykexy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy), confidant and beta extraordinaire. <3
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cmdrspockette)!


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